


Mary: PCOS (part one)

by all4athena



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Coping, F/M, Fights, Gen, Illnesses, Medical Procedures, Pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-20
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-29 22:07:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/692013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/all4athena/pseuds/all4athena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My way of dealing with my similar fate. Mary gets Polycystic ovaries, if not worse. John suffers through it and provides comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mary: PCOS (part one)

“Mary?”

The blonde stirred in her half-slumber. “Hmm?”

“What’s it like being pregnant?”

Mary cracked an eye open to look at her spouse. “You’re a doctor, John. You’d know better than I.”

The doctor hummed, considering for a moment - yes, he had had eight years of medical school, plus his combined time as a general practitioner, a surgeon in Afghanistan, and a bit of a stint as an ER doc at Bart’s back in Uni days. “Yes, but I’ve got a.. _thing_ ,” he teased, making an elaborate gesture with his right hand that went down his thigh. “I can’t _get_ pregnant, nor have babies… I have the easy part, yeah?”

Mary, now fully awake, upturns a corner of her lip. “You know I don’t like the subject of kids right now, and although my body’s been tricked into thinking its pregnant, it’s no excuse to bring up _progeny_.” She huffed and rolled over, her back turning to John. She brought her knees up to her chest, curling into herself, and more importantly, shutting herself out from the world.

The poor girl had been through hell and back lately - ever since last year, around Christmastime, she had been experiencing god-awful pains in her womb, and, accompanied by a heavy, thick-clot-producing period, she could barely function. Although she tried to maintain her composure for her beloved, she failed miserably, as he could read her as plainly as text on a page. Without hesitation, the man called off sick to work and rushed her to the nearest hospital, where, after copious amounts of bloodwork, headaches, and penetrations of her sex, it was found out that she had cystic ovaries. “A simple fix,” John replied, stroking her sweat-drenched hair through the transvaginal ultrasound; she was put on birth control pills that would not only lessen her period, but also, due to the amount of estrogen in it, simulate pregnancy.

But it wasn’t done yet; the beast within Mary’s womb would not be slain that easily.

Instead of recoiling into submission, the young woman’s uterus outright rebelled. Sure, it stopped the menstrual bleeding for a time, and all seemed to go back to normal, That was, before the bleeding started up again, worse than before this time. Mary woke up one night at three in the morning because of the feeling of someone stabbing her in the gut, only to look down and find a vicious pool of blood between her legs, yet again. Thankfully, John was at a medical conference during this time, so she was able to clean up and keep her husband unknowing for quite some time. With every day that passed by, the more she wished that she could get it all cut out of her; at times, she thought about doing it herself.

After she kept bleeding for over a month, however (combined with the rupture of multiple of her ovarian cysts), she told John; he rushed her back to the OBGYN. They did nothing about it, said she’ll need bloodwork in a month or so to rule out a pituitary tumor, and, if that isn’t the problem, she’ll need an IUD and a laproscopy.

“But she’s my _wife_!” John screamed at the top of his lungs to the doctor, a former classmate from nearly twenty years ago that didn’t recognize him. “I work at the clinic a quarter-mile away from here; you refer patients to me all the time! You can’t treat… you can’t treat my heart so shabbily!”

The attending physician shrugged, turned on his heels, and left, leaving the grieving couple alone. “I’m so, so sorry…” John tried, offering his hand to Mary, but she slapped it away, got up, and stormed out of the office.

Nothing had been the same since then; they hadn’t consummated their marriage in months, nor had they really gotten along for that matter. With estrogen pumping through her veins, Mary had become a nasty, vicious version of her former self, choosing to ‘fight’ rather than ‘flight’. She verbally lashed out at everything and everyone, especially poor John, because he was the closest to her emotionally and because she knew he could take it. They would fight more and more with each passing day, and it came to the point where Mary repeatedly asked for divorce, to which John would say, “shh, love, it’s the pills. I’m sorry,” and leave for the night (or a couple of days), choosing to spend time with Sherlock. That was no good, either.

“You’re off shagging him again, aren’t you?” Mary would cry, throwing a pillow off of the couch at John when he would return. Normally, Mary wasn’t selfish at all; in fact, she encouraged them to shag and often participated in carnal acts with the both of them. This wasn’t the case as of late, though. John ducked and dodged Mary’s lashes, only to crawl back upstairs and go to bed early; the young blonde joined him after a couple of hours.

Which is where we catch back up with them.

With a sigh, John understood. His poor bride, the woman he had fallen so deeply for, the one thing that brought him out for the abysmal pit that Sherlock had pushed him into after the fall, couldn’t recover. Not like this, anyway; she was scared, moody, and utterly alone. “Do you need me to hold you, love?” he asked in the gentlest of voices he could muster, stretching out his hand and ghosting them over his bride’s upper arm.

Mary nodded, trembling slightly at John’s touch. The doctor took heed and, as slowly as he could, curled himself around her scared, broken form. “I love you, Mary Watson. If I didn’t, I would have never asked for you to spend the rest of your life by my side. This is just a small bump in the road for you… for _us_ , and we’ll get through it…. together, or not at all.


End file.
